


Dandelions always Bloom again

by SpiralsInTime



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Anger, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Escape, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Gay Panic, Geralt Tortured, Geraskier Week, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Torture, Injury Recovery, Insecure Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Has a Past, Kidnapping, M/M, Physical Abuse, Recovery, Strangers to Lovers, Torture, Touch-Starved Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher), chapter is given a specific tw ahead of time, like very briefly mentioned, mention of animal abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:07:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23182201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpiralsInTime/pseuds/SpiralsInTime
Summary: Geralt gets kidnapped and is further experimented on, pushing his Witcher mutations to their limits. Jaskier, a subservient to those who captured The White Wolf, gets troubled by his growing curiosity over the strange imprisoner.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Roach, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Roach
Comments: 47
Kudos: 265





	1. Chapter I

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, ya'll! This is my first full #Geraskier storyline and is an on-going product so remember to either bookmark or subscribe to this piece to not miss any updates. Please feel free to leave comments with your feedback, I would very much appreciate it! Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

The back of a hardened hand had painfully struck Julian’s cheek, leaving a large reddening marking. “What did I say about asking fucking questions?” The icy empowered voice made him flinch, quickly to lower his head in an obedient manner, muttering a quick ‘sorry.’ He knew his inquiry about the unconscious man being carried by three men wasn’t going to go well. He should’ve known better, yet his talkative, curious side got the better of him. 

Glancing up, his messy greasy hair tangled above his blue eyes like dark brown vines. He watched nervously as the three men struggled to carry the massive body with a black cloak around it into the dungeon. Julian’s chest was suddenly heavy at the thought of what they were about to do to the unconscious man, knowing very well what they did to the people in that bitter cold dungeon, knowing from the night he was taken here years earlier. 

“Shitface,” Julian shot his head up when he was addressed. “Go boil up water, doesn’t matter if the water is shit-filled or clean.” 

“Yes, sir,” he answered, nodding once before turning to do as told, his ribcage screaming out with each step. Wincing, Julian made his way up the splintered staircase, trying everything in his power to ignore the itching pain of his bruised ribs, forcing himself to think of songs he’d be able to compose once he runs from this constant nightmare. Picturing the days he will be able to actually bathe regularly and with warm water. The days he’ll sing in taverns, enchanting an entire crowd, having people willing to talk to him about his life and his music. The days when people will love him and he’ll love back just as in tune with theirs. 

After collecting the burning water he could feel steaming through the wooden bucket, Julian carefully but quickly to not make his Owners wait for him, gave the boiled water to his Owner, a larger man with starless-night hair, his brown eyes flaming every second they lay their gaze upon his useless figure. He peeked inside the darkened dungeon as the dark-haired man turned, bucket in hand, and saw stringy white hair matted with blood spots before the door slammed in his face. In these rare moments, he wasn’t being commanded to do something or being beaten bloody, he took advantage of it and made his way to his room, well, closet. 

He didn’t need more space though, he was content, happy-even that some nights they’d give him a rough blanket, enough to keep him alive through the murderous winters. Julian recoiled into himself as he let his pained figure fall to the floor against the unpleasant textured wall. Reaching for a broken floor panel, a gentle smile crossed his face as he pulled out a tiny box with a hole cut out on the top, strings tightly stretching over it with gapes in between. 

Julian exhaled with slight relief, putting his head against the wall, his eyes closed while his fingers tugged graciously, tenderly at the strings. The soft sound guided around the room, not in tune at any means, but still music nonetheless which tugged his lips upwards calmly. A piercing yell seeped through the closet’s walls, suffocating Julian, throwing him roughly back into reality. He thought back to the silver hair he caught a glimpse of from the unconscious man, who now was fully aware of his situation by the hearing of it. Julian tightened his burning eyes, fingers still stroking the strings but with more of a tremble now, as he pictured his Owners throwing the boiling hot water over the man; water he boiled, that of which he brought to them...he was part of this torturing. A cry clawed its way from his throat, guilt punching him in his already bruised ribs, and all he could do was tighten his eyes, pluck the strings harder, and hummed himself his own lullaby. A lullaby of a brave bard traveling the Continent, bringing laughter and joyful smiles in his path from his songs, and never being alone again.

Another painful groan followed by a threatening scream wept through the walls from the dungeon.

Never being alone again, he thought to himself with a cry.


	2. Chapter II

Shivering, Julian raised his body slightly from the calloused tiles, sending a rush of goosebumps across his skin. Tonight was not one of those blessed nights when he received a blanket, leaving him to curl up within himself, shaking fiercely. Darkness engulfed his small figure, not a sliver of light falling within the crease of the shut door, making him aware he had awoken before sunlight. Painfully pushing himself up, the jabbing shouts of pain raised in his side, protesting the movements but ignored with effort. 

Softly creaking the door open, widening the dark environment further in front of him, Julian slid his body through the gap quietly. The setting familiar from nights sneaking out, never daring to fully leave out of agonizing fear of being beaten to death and he wasn’t testing fate tonight with that either. Julian let his eyes adjust to the murkiness of the hallway before carefully making his way down the corridor slowly, focusing his hearing on the upstairs for footsteps, terrified he’d be caught. He swiped the key from the wall within the small kitchen, trying his best not to fumble around with it and continued stepping softly forward. 

Stopping right in his tracks he faced a large door, a quiver scrapping against his spine as his motionless hand rested inches away from the door handle. He considered turning away to head back to his room, but his curiosity begged before he finally attentively opened the wooden door after unlocking it, bleeding out a long creak, unable to not give in to the pleads itching at him. The grogginess left him completely, being refilled with pure adrenalin and curiosity. 

The faintest sound of someone inhaling calmly made its way to Julian’s ears before an embodied voice followed, “Who are you?” The gravelly voice almost barked out of the darkness the sound of chains being pulled hastily. The level of deepness in the voice itself made Julian jump, a quick flash of regret spiking to his mind before settling again as he turned to look into the pure darkness, knowing the man would be chained up a few feet away from him.

He shuffled against the damp icy bricks behind him, remembering the deathly cold air squeezing his skin breathlessly. Julian didn’t bother answering the man as if he hadn’t heard him in the first place. He crooked his head to the side though he was still staring into pure blackness of the dungeon. “Why did they take you, what did you do?” His voice came out small compared to the roughness of the man’s and clearly swirled with total inquisitiveness. 

The voice inhaled softly again, “Hmm,” and took its time before indulging Julian with an answer, almost like he was questioning if he deserved a reply. “Nothing,” he let out monotonously. 

_Nothing?_

Julian thought to myself, his face twisting with wonder, wanting to ask the man what he meant by that.

He wanted to know why his Master took him and so aggressively at that. Wanted to know where he was going when he was taken? Was he in town? Surely that would’ve brought attention and people would intervene, wouldn’t they? Or was he traveling by horse, and if so, where is his horse? 

Endless thoughts dizzily ran around him, engaging his piqued interest. 

The slightest sliver of the raising sunlight flowed on the floor between the one hole in the bricks filled with thick metal bars. The soft ray of light glided over the man’s face, getting Julian to step forward absentmindedly, his head tilted to the left ever so slightly. Kneeling down, forcing plenty of space between the man and himself, he furrowed his eyebrows, looking over half of the face lit up in front of him. 

Blazing golden eyes stared back at him as if he could easily see the small figure hidden within the darkness in front of him, bringing more questions to Julian’s mind. He had got a glance at the white hair before but under the sun’s growing light it nearly came alive with silver locks, dried blood piercing through strands like the pops of burning ash from a fire. Julian’s eyes followed down to study the rough face, which still remained emotionless, and noted the scars running across the stubble of his dark facial hair, contrasting with his light long hair. He noticed what he was doing and stumbled backward, trying to force himself to his feet, fearfully glancing at the sun rays increasingly lighting up the dungeon every minute. 

“ _Shit_ , shit, shit,” Julian muttered bearly making his way to the door, fumbling with the handle and shoved himself out trying his best to be quiet.

Locking the door behind him, he nearly ran to the kitchen down the corridor to throw the key around the nail smashed into the wall. He heard the slight squeak of footsteps gradually walking down the wooden steps and turned swiftly to meet the brown-haired man with a slight obedient smile and nod, eagerly forcing any look of guilt off his face. The man looked at with him thought for a second before a look of hatred twisted over his facial expressions while looking around the empty kitchen, “You’re up so early but no breakfast is ready, not even begun.” The angry voice came out dry and threatening, Julian flinched at the tone.

“Sorry, sir, I’ll get right on that, sir,” 

“Hurry the  _ fuck _ up.” 

A whimper clawed at his throat but he didn’t dare let it out, knowing it would only bring a fist down at him, and that’s if he was lucky it would only be a fist. Julian turned, calming his frightened breath and racing mind, waves crashing against his mind with images of those molten lava eyes he saw just moments before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember to bookmark or subscribe to the story so you don't miss out on upcoming chapters! <3


	3. Chapter III

_ Who the fuck thought in their right goddamn mind spiked my fucking ale. _

_ And how was I so careless that I couldn’t even smell it? _

Geralt couldn’t help the bashful thoughts suffocating himself, though he knew he was right. A Witcher, Geralt of fucking Rivia, managed to get myself kidnapped by whoever these fuckers were and all because he got drunk after a horrid fight with Yen - again.

“Geralt of Rivia,” the dark-haired man started speaking up, once the dungeon was locked, with a facetious smirk before continuing. “The Butcher of Blaviken, I expected more honestly.” He glanced at the three comrades beside him in question, they all nodded in agreement while smirking, the blonde shorter guy even snorted at his resort. 

Kneeling on his knees, his hair matted with blood, his eyes blazed with increasing fury and teeth painfully clenched. Geralt’s wrists and ankles were shackled with unbearably tight chains, his raw skins scraping bloody as his quick healing made the scabs heal, only to be torn off again against the metal repeatedly. 

“All those stupid rumors and tales about you,” the person who seemed to be the leader laughed cruelly, “Total bullshit.” The man stalked forward with a steaming bucket of hot water, his brown eyes flicked with malicious. Geralt mentally prepared himself but didn’t back down, only knelt on his knees, his arms tied back, and continued to look directly into the leader’s eyes. 

The man slowly poured the boiling, clearly not clean water over the Witcher’s face, letting it run down his body, seeping through the thin shirt. Geralt groaned distressingly, his jaw popping loudly from clenching his teeth together in agony. His face winced as he felt his skin burning hot red, becoming raw. Opening his panther eyes he glared at the man who smiled in an ever-expanding sadistic, sinful way. Somewhere in the house Geralt could hear a soft cry being muffled, making his anger increase further. 

Lowering his face near the Witcher, his knees meeting the rough gravel flooring, he leaned forward, his cracked lips parted to voice something, but before he could Geralt head-butted him in the nose, a satisfying crack reverberated against the mossy walls. The brown-haired man stumbled backward from the force, his hand grasping his nose while grunting painfully.

The third and only black man spoke up, his voice wobbly and the growing fear wafted through the damp air of the dungeon. “Uh, maybe this was a mistake.” He stumbled toward the door but with a dominating yell coming from the man covered in blood from his clearly broken nose, had frozen and stayed in the room anxiously.

“Hm,” Geralt grunted in slight pleasure by the reaction he caused the black man, soon hoping to spread that reaction to the other fuckers who kidnapped him. Standing weakly, the leader faced the White Wolf, clearly putting a bit more distance between them. 

“You’ll regret doing that, Witcher,” his voice coming out taut and with that, the three men left, only one looking like he had shit his pants from the amount of fear Geralt could smell from him, beyond eager to leave.

The torch on the wall was blown out by the angry force the men had slammed the dungeon door behind them. Geralt’s eyes dilated quickly in response, allowing as much light into his eyes, making the room visible to him. The wet sound of a key locking the damp door was the last thing Geralt cared to let himself hear before leaning back and letting his mind fall into a practiced meditation. 

  
  


-

Snapping his eyes open after he had let himself drift off to sleep hours ago, his gaze tightly against the dungeon’s door as the soft sound of it unlocking could be heard. Immediately, Geralt knew it wasn’t one of the three men from earlier, just the act of unlocking and opening the door had been done too carefully. 

Inhaling, he smelt the stranger’s strong body odor, possibly from weeks of not using proper soup. “Who are you?” Geralt mumbled, irritated to be awakened from his sleep, but pulled at the chains to hoist himself forward in an upward position on his knees. Through the darkness, Geralt noticed the boy had jumped, a flash of nerves whirled through the moist air before swirling into a different smell; pure curiosity. 

The boy tilted his head though the Witcher knew the human’s eyes failed him in this dark environment. He ignored his question as if he hadn’t heard the Wolf speak, to begin with, but with the reaction, Geralt knew he had.

“Why did they take you, what did you do?” The Witcher was taken aback from the voice. Sounding so fragile like a thin layer of ice, ready to be broken under the slightest pressure.

“Hmm,” Geralt inhaled questioningly, before speaking his answer. “Nothing,” was all he offered. This short non-answer caused the boy to wrinkle up his features with wonder as he froze, seemingly being stuck in thought before his foot stepped towards Geralt. Soft morning light hit his hardened features, his eyes quick to self-dilate, adjusting to this change in light.

Geralt didn’t move, barely breathed, as the boy knelt down in front of him, though he was smart enough to leave distance between them; something the man with the now-broken nose lacked. He met the stranger’s eyes, noticing the boy’s eyebrows creased together as the silver orbs swam over the Witcher’s features. Keeping a stoned look, he watched acting as if this was nothing new, but Geralt felt almost uncomfortable under this gaze. He smelt no fear or hatred, not even the slight scent of nerves. Only the growing smell of interest and inquisitive; something completely foreign to Geralt’s long years on Earth.

Sure, many people were curious about the Witcher, nearly everyone was eager to ask question after question. But nobody ever did because of that overpowering sense of utter fear. Yet, here this boy was, looking at Geralt as if he was a problem trying to be answered with no fear lingering over the figure. It confused Geralt as much as this boy looked to be at Geralt.

Before he could move his lips to voice something, the boy’s silver eyes widened with realization as he tumbled backward. The heavy, intoxicating smell of panic and dread cashed into the room like an oceans’ stormy wave, suffocating Geralt with the usual pain he felt when complete strangers felt towards the Witcher. This seemed different. The boy’s eyes weren’t on him anymore, but on the growing light engulfing the room.

“ _ Shit _ , shit, shit,” the boy angrily muttered to himself while stuttering with the keys to unlock the door, throwing himself out of the dungeon as if he couldn’t breathe in there. 

Silence followed, confusing Geralt but was too tired to question it deeply. Leaning back in a somewhat comfortable position, his wrists and ankles still cuffed unbearably tight. The second before he let himself slip into meditation, the voice of the leader laced outside the door, holding his attention.

“You’re up so early but no breakfast is ready, not even begun!” The man screamed and the aching sound of the boy’s heartbeat quickened and even from within the dungeon, Geralt smelt the fear rising from the figure.

“Sorry, sir, I’ll get right on that, sir,” Geralt grumbled harshly under his breath, noticing the difference in the boy’s voice when directed towards him and the man, but he couldn’t finish the thought when a thunderous sound rang out.

“Hurry the  _ fuck _ up.” 

Geralt forcefully ripped at the chains but nothing budged, leaving him with ever-growing rage when he thought back to the soft muffled cry he heard the other evening when boiled water was thrown over him. All Geralt could do is wait. Wait until a time he could escape and kill the three men, but in the meantime, he forced himself to not think about the silver eyes filled with wonder, now washed away with terror for his life.


	4. Chapter IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flashback to when Julian was 17-years-old, struggling to survive on the streets until one day a man took him in graciously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: 
> 
> This chapter briefly mentions rape when Julian was 15 and had to whore himself out to survive to gain coin, and the concept of him being abused during it as well. It doesn't go into detail at all, just a passing thought.

Julian’s deathly thin body was thrown out into the wet stinking streets, his small 17-year-old hands barely held his figure up as he trembled violently. “Get the bloody hell out of my inn, ya filthy rat. I can’t allow people stayin’ for free.” The man grumbled before slamming his establishment’s door shut, leaving the boy out in the late autumn air.

His teeth chattered wildly as he effortfully pushed himself off the frost-bitten cobblestones beneath him, struggling to gather his composure. The brown hair ran rampant over his face, the sides well-past overgrown, nearly covering half of his ears. Though he brought no attention to it, having struggled for years to gain enough money just to get food and housing, he rarely had the luxury for a haircut, nevermind a bath. 

Feeling for his pockets, he felt only a few coins left but not enough for him to get some food from the market. Nevertheless, he aimlessly made his way there for no particular reason in mind. He thought to himself possibly he would catch a traveler's eye in need of some company. After being thrown out by his parents years ago, he’d found out the quickest, most effective way to get himself coin was by offering up his body to anyone, advertising that they could do anything they pleased. 

Julian despised doing that, not because he felt it was morally wrong - no, he found the most pleasant conversations he’s had to be with whores working at brothels and enjoyed listening to their retells of their client’s stories. In fact, the only people who ever seemed the slightest bit interested in being around him were whores, and never for sexual reasons for he had no coin, to begin with. 

No, he rather hated the way people would involve daggers into their sexual desires, being aroused by the pain they caused him. Especially when he was younger, that of a 15-year-old just abandoned by his family; it was all too easy then to sell himself to bypassers for a night or two before they continued on their journey. 

He sighed at the thought, knowing the best chance of getting into a warm bed tonight was offering his body up. Bending his neck low to his shoulder, he inhaled softly before rethinking that somebody would want an unwashed-whore for tonight; only the kindest of men bought him a cold bath before they inflicted pain to his body. 

Stumbling through the market, his skinny arms wrapped around his frame tightly, eager for an ounce of warmth he could gather, as he let his eyes wander around at the goods people were selling. He avoided any stands that had warm, cooked food and cursed at himself when he found his mouth watering over the unrealistic fantasy of eating tonight. 

Nobody took notice of him, for that he was glad, but every once in a while a larger frame would roughly hit his shoulder, nearly throwing himself off balance. He never could tell if it were an accident or not, but that never bothered him much at the thought of it being the latter. 

Julian continued walking, his eyes having a staring contest with the muddied cobblestone under his feet. After a moment in thought, he raised his head and caught a glance of the most alluring, resplendent sight he’d ever seen.

A deep red doublet hung ever so finely, broadcasting its fine craftsmanship to all of those who pass by. Julian eagerly made his way over to the gorgeous piece of art, a wide smile spreading over his features. Light flickered over his crystalline eyes as he studied the royal gold embedding stitched within the material, a gentle flowery pattern blossomed in the dark burgundy.

He reached out his hand ever so slowly, suddenly unaware of the hunger growing in his bones and the cold aching in his chest. “Wow, you’re stunning,” Julian breathed out to the fabric, his eyes wide in awe, the tip of his index finger caressing the gold lining as if it would break under any pressure. 

“Please, do not touch! This doublet costs more than you’d make in your entire, useless lifetime!” 

Julian shot back his hand, being thrown back into the fear and coldness. “I’m-I-I’m sorry, I just-sorry, I-” he stuttered badly, feeling guilty for possibly ruining such a fine piece of clothing, backing away in a quick sway of his body.

The man looked at him with clear disgust covering his aging features as he inspected the doublet, gently wiping away at the fabric Julian didn’t leave a speck of dirt on - his presence was enough to dirty the expensive royal clothes. The bulky man glanced at the boy and Julian noticed his maddening features soften as his eyes examined his dirty rags of clothing, face smeared with dirt from earlier being shoved out of an inn, and his shaking, boney figure. 

“You sure are right though, she’s a beaut,” He gave Julian a weak trying smile, pitty screaming clearly in his green eyes. 

“D-did you-are you the one who crafted it?” Julian asked quietly, unsure of the situation he had found himself in. 

The man nodded proudly, his green gaze meeting with the doublet as if he were lost in thought. Before he could take notice, Julian turned and hurried off, the nerves building within his body, afraid he would say something wrong and get thrown harsh words at again. 

Turning the corner of the market, he violently ran into a large man with dark, unreadable eyes. Cursing to himself for not being careful of where he was walking, one of the man’s hands wrapped around his own arm tightly, breaking his fall. The nearly-jet-black eyes looked at Julian before a smile bloomed across his features ever so slightly. Julian visibly relaxed at the sight, giving an apologetic smile, stepping back to distance their bodies. 

“When was the last time you ate?” 

Julian’s eyebrows furrowed, not understanding why the man would be wasting his time asking such a question. “I believe two nights ago,” he mumbled unsurely, fidgeting with his fingers, tearing at his already-short nails. Looking up at the bulky man, he couldn’t decipher what he was thinking, which made him feel a bit uneasy.

“Let’s get you something to eat, eh?” 

Standing there for an extra second, he considered running but fought the urge after feeling his body physically being in pain for needing food. The man smiled at him, tilting his head slightly, waiting for an answer.

“Um, sure, but I-I don’t have nothing to give you in return,” He barely noticed the speck of blood on his thumb after unconsciously tearing half of the nail off. 

“No need,” The man’s voice sounded pleasant, despite his towering appearance; but Julian knew not to assume anything about a person based on their appearance alone. Possibly he accepted the offer out of stupidity, or maybe the animal instincts to jump at any opportunity to get food, but nevertheless, Julian followed the man into a nearby inn.

The inn was visibly welcoming, a warm jovial environment, clearly a well-known place within the town. A diverse number of people filed around the gratefully spacious room. The young barmaids buzzed from table to table, tankards in hand sitting on a wooden palate, gracefully handing them out to the talkative men at the tables. A group of men drunkenly argued at their table in the corner bringing raucous to the barkeep trying to clean out tankards near them, clearly irritated. 

Settling down on a dreary small stool, Julian glanced up meeting eyes with the thoughtful man who mirrored his action on the other side of the table. “I guess I should’ve asked earlier,” he muttered awkwardly before continuing, “what should I call you?”

“Eustace,” he replied, a tight smile playing at his features before turning his attention away from Julian, focusing on flipping a coin to a barmaid handing him two tankards of ale. He pushed one to him while taking a mouthful of ale down his throat.

Julian carefully picked up the much-too-large cup in his thin pale hands, bringing the rim to his lips drinking in the bitter liquid, forcing it down with a clear unpleasant look running over his face. “It’s nice to meet you, uh, Eustace,” his speech slowed down pronouncing the odd name, but nevertheless continued onward. “My name is Julian,”

Eustace threw him a flash of a smile before drinking more of his ale, already making a gesture to the barmaid for another tankard and for a bowl of stew. Fumbling his fingers together, Julian examined the man in front of him, a wave of nerves shooting down his spine.

Julian and Eustace were close to sharing the same height, however, the most visible difference was their body shapes. Eustace was a large man, his shoulders broad and his posture seemed to always be straight, ready for action at any given moment. The moody brown hair hung low over his forehead, in desperate need of a cutting and a few pieces were stuck to the sweating of his skin. His rounded jawline--if you could call it that to begin with--had dark patchy facial hair sprinkled across it, his mustache thicker than the rest, making his lips look thinner than they really were.

Trying to straighten his posture to mirror the figure in front of him, he analyzed the way Eustace only smiled when he saw the boy was looking at him. Julian mentally shrugged it off, noting it as possibly trying to be comforting or something, he wasn’t entirely sure and before he could question it further, a steaming bowl of potato stew was sat in front of him. He all but drooled down at the food, his body screaming in alert that he desperately needed to eat, shooting a painful headache up through him.

As soon as he went to start eating, his eyes filled with pure hunger and determination, he paused. Forcing himself to look at Eustace, waiting for his permission to eat. This seemed to have brought a smirk on his rounded face, showing pure pleasure that the boy had waited for his say. Eustace’s eyes darkened to a low color, a certain look within them, but Julian couldn’t help but ignore it and immediately start eating after Eustace gave him a small nod. His body yearned for the food, clearly struggling to survive without it for the past two days.

“How about you stay at mines for the time being,” It had been a full ten minutes of silence between the two men before he spoke, letting the boy eat his filling, but not showing any interest in actually being there. Julian gave him a wide-eyed look, uncertainty and fear broadcasted through prominently. “Ya know, while you gain yourself some coin and can afford to go off again.” Eustace gave him a large smile, nearly too big, like a crack forcing itself across broken down bricks. Nonetheless, Julian agreed, having no true other option and he really was desperate to survive the oncoming death of winter. 

>>>

Julian laid on his back on the plushy bed, his eyes meeting the ceiling mindlessly, vision nearly blurred as he got lost in his own thoughts. Eustace had led him to a room, quite large to what he was used to, and had welcomed him as if already a friend. Julian had found himself growing guilty, knowing how useless he was to the point he had to accept a pitying stranger's request of staying at their place to survive the winter. He had told Eustace that by spring he would surely be gone, getting out of his hair. However, in the meantime, Julian worked hard in and out of the house, trying desperately to gain coin and broadcast his gratitude to the man. 

Weeks passed and he found the feeling twisting in his gut like thorns on wild vines, slicing him with every breath. Eustace started reassuring him that he needn’t whore himself out to gain money and that he could stay for as long as he needs, only asking if he kept the place clean. Julian, being naive and over-trusting, gleamed at that, quick to shake hands with the man, accepting the agreement without thought. 

As the months dragged on, Julian heavily relied on Eustace for everything. Housing, food, clothing, health, and enjoyment, all of which he had to go to the older man to get. He hadn’t even had his own coin anymore since Eustace warmly told him not to worry about that yet, a friendly smile on his lips. Julian couldn’t pin-point when he started messing things up, it all blended together harshly like rough, violent brush strokes. 

Eustace began raising his voice at the boy, ever so slowly as the time aged. The reactions increased with the passing weeks and the littlest of things triggered the man into bursts of wrath, whether that be Julian accidentally bumping into the other’s figure when he let his thoughts wander inside, quickly becoming unaware of his surroundings, or after Julian hadn’t made breakfast for him when he was supposed to. 

The gracious host wasn’t always like this, of course, Julian reminded himself during some days when he would surprise him with new winter boots after noticing his pair had holes. Nobody had ever given much thought to Julian’s comfort, but Eustace did, and he appreciated it, making it easy to forgive the yelling. 

  
It took an entire year for Eustace to backhand him and another to fully punch him. He kept reminding himself that it was  _ his _ fault for needing to be punished. Someone as kind as to take him in wouldn’t just do it ‘because’. Julian owed him that much, not to complain or flea because he knew he wouldn’t have survived the first winter without him. So, he stayed, acquiescing the screaming, the punching, the punishment of being refused food and bathing. Julian knew he deserved it all, for he was the one messing up, always being in the way of Eustace. He deserved being kicked out of the large room and put into the closet, so there would be an extra room for somebody more important than he. Julian reminded himself of all of this, his debt he had yet to pay for Eustace generosity, any night he was in pain from the strong punches he endeared before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on Twitter @SpiralsInTime for more talk about The Witcher!


	5. Chapter V

“Get up,” 

The voice demanded, leaving Julian’s groggy, early morning mind confused. He dug the heel of his palm into his eyes before a rough hand yanked him out of the closet, resulting in his head being hit against the doorframe aggressively. A groan crawled from his throat, causing the clasped hand around his loose undershirt to tighten. 

“Ye-yes, Eustace?” Julian whimpered, ignoring the swirling behind his eyes while his forehead hammered painfully. Eustace let his grip pull away, turning his back to begin walking down the corridor, knowing the boy would fall in step. Julian did without thought, fully aware of the consequences if he hadn’t. 

As the man’s back faced him, Julian let his weakness be shown and raised his hand to tenderly grace along the bruising red gash in his forehead, contrasting visibly with his paper-white skin. He winced, yanking his finger away to find the remanence of blood on his thin digits. Mentally shaking the pain away, Julian forced his mind to the task at hand: following Eustace to whatever he needed him to do. Sucking a breath in harshly, he prayed to the Gods for it not to be the empty bedroom he first laid in during the beginning months of their friendship; Eustace liked punishing him there as a reminder of what he had given him. 

“Julian,” 

He blinked suddenly aware that he stood motionlessly in front of the dungeons cold door, lost in his thoughts. Eustace was looking at him, his hand resting on the handle, his back slightly turned so he could glance at the boy behind him. “Mhm?”

“Don’t be afraid,” the man gave him a weak smile, avoiding his dark eyes. Julian didn’t seem to notice and exhaled at the sight, he hadn’t seen Eustace gift him a smile in weeks. It reminded him that he wasn’t always bad and looked out for him. The dark eyes left him before Julian opened his mouth to spill words out, watching the gracious figure open the door, gesturing himself in first politely. Julian snapped his mouth shut, all too knowing that Eustace didn’t like him talking, and smiled up at him before entering. 

Julian’s smile dropped instantly when his eyes met with the blown-out golden ones, the color that’d been stuck in his mind every night, something he’s been desperately trying to ignore. Throwing his gaze back at Eustace, who stood closing the door, a wicked smirk tugging at his features, enjoying the look on the boy’s face.

Swiftly snapping his eyes towards the gold ores struggling to look into the blue, Julian’s chest ached deeply as he forced his lungs to inhale and exhale, his stomach longing to puke at the sight in front of him. The large man was nearly stripped naked, his body stretched out flat on a raised sturdy platform, his back pressed against it as his ankles and wrists were chained down. His pale skin littered with red-wine scars, some neatly healed having been sewed up, while others held ragged edges without any care. The sight of the scars affected Julian none, but the deep fresh slashes over the man’s bare chest made his knees weak and his stomach sick; he swallowed a threatening gag. 

“It’s known as The Butcher of Blaviken,” Eustace voiced stated, matter-of-factly, stepping towards the bloodied man, his eyes trailing over the marks he had inflicted with a sense of pride in his actions. “A mutant,” he literally spat the words out, saliva hitting the tied down figure directly. The man didn’t even flinch, only glared at Eustace with a murderous haze. 

Julian found he couldn’t move. Breathing became a manual task, forcing each breath in and then out. He started tearing at the skin around his nails, realizing then he was shaking with his thoughts.

_ Why is he torturing this man-this mutant? Butcher of Blaviken. Why not just kill him then if he truly was a butcher? _

“It?” he breathed out, barely audible, his gaze not leaving the blood oozing out of the man’s chest. The edges of the wounds looked scabbed over, the skin flaring crimson, nearly as dark as the blood. 

“Yes,” Eustace replied, his voice dangerously low, a warning to Julian not to question him. “ _ It _ ,” he paused to put emphasis on the word before continuing his statement that sounded to be fact, not opinion, “-is a monster,” 

_ Why?  _

Julian didn’t dare ask, but the question screamed loudly in his head, wondering what the man could’ve done to gain such a reputation. It was clear that’s what he was--a man. Sure, he was large, his biceps basically two tree trunks, same with his revealed thighs, but still a figure of a man, nonetheless. His eyes seemed to glow like a torch, two heavy gold rays and dilated much like a cat’s than a human, but again, the eyes chiseled in on a human-looking face. 

He was pulled from his thoughts with a loud, threatening snarl that reverberated against the damp walls. It took Julian a moment to realize the animalistic sound came from the man, and what took him further aback was that Eustace now held a burning torch in his hand, crossing the dungeon’s floor, nearing the strapped down figure. “Let’s see just how mutated you are,” Eustace flashed a merciless smile, his hazed eyes flaring with a starved look of hunger. A shiver crawled down Julian’s spine viciously as he pushed his back into the harshly-textured wall, feeling bile rise in his throat. He wanted to leave-- _ needed _ to leave.

“I-I’m not needed here, ri-right? I could go clean the horse stables or--”

Eustace snapped his neck towards him, cutting Julian off with a threatening tone he knew all-too-well. “I need you,” he paused, aware of how those words affected Julian, knowing the boy would say yes after hearing them, “-to stay.”

A lick of a flame fell to the frozen ground as the torch continued to burn. Julian usually loved fire, was utterly fascinated by the element and its graceful dances matching with the air element. Though, as Julian’s fearful eyes locked with the fire held by Eustace, it held nothing but a yearning to destroy everything it flickered across. Eustace let the fire engulf the man’s side, hiding his pale skin through angry, bloodthirsty flames. 

Julian’s ears filled with the sound of a piercing scream, only noticing it was yanked from his own throat before he grasped a hand over his gaping mouth. The man’s face contorted in agony, his eyes shut painfully, matching his clenched jaw. Julian let his body crumble to the floor, his back pressed against the wall, knees nudged into his heaving chest. His vision was obscured by the tears clawing their way out, making the emotion in Eustace’s eyes indistinguishable as he pulled away from the torch, taking a step back, watching the man’s body tense up in pure agony.

Minutes passed, Julian remained on the ground, silent strangled cries left his mouth, making his head pounding from the lack of oxygen reaching his tired lungs. The man’s body stilled, knuckles paper-white from grasping the side of the table, his grunts growing deep. 

“Fascinating!” Eustace happily chirped, the noise foreign to Julian after four years. He couldn’t bear to open his eyes, he didn’t realize he had closed before the pain flared up through the tough tension. “The knife cuts have already healed over,” Eustace studied aloud, placing the torch on the wall before circling the chained figure, a certain spark in his eyes. “The skin definitely reacted to the fire...mhm, but seems to be slowly healing itself already,” Julian stopped listening to him, his mind trying to process what he had just witnessed. 

_ Torture.  _

_ This is torture.  _

“Come here,” Julian snapped his gaze to meet Eustace, who looked at him with disappointment but gestured for him to get up, his voice a clear demand. The boy struggled to lift his thin body, now feeling suddenly way too heavy to stand up on his trembling legs. Making his way gradually to the table, face hot with salty tears, he averted his eyes to look down at his thin, fidgeting fingers, a silent plea to Eustace to allow him to leave. “It’s a monster,” Julian’s body trembled under the grip of Eustace’s hand resting on his shoulder. “Remember that. It was mutated, created to kill, and that’s exactly what it’s done,” 

Julian nodded weakly, sniffing, though his eyes never left his torn up fingernails. The heavy, rough breathes from the bloodied man -  _ thing _ \- filled the dungeon room. Eustace moved away from the boy’s side and circled the table again, eyes squinting in deep concentration, analyzing the fast healing properties of the mutant in front of them, it faces emotionless and unmoving. 

The last tears fell to the ground as Julian brought the heel of his palm to wipe away the snot dripping from his nose. He gagged aggressively after sniffing, the overwhelming scent of burnt skin intoxicating his scenes, making him turn his back to the table, covering his mouth and nose with his cracked hand.

“You’re to clean it,”

“Wh-at?” Julian choked out, meeting eyes with Eustace, who stood in front of him, his face clear from any hints of kindness. 

“The mutant. Clean it, we need it to have no dried blood covering it. Easy to see how far we’re able to take this process. Fetch a bucket from the horse stables. Go.”

Julian stumbled towards the door, nodding his head swiftly, eager to leave the smell of burnt flesh wafting through the air suffocatingly. Creaking open the door, Eustace spoke again, a low threatening tone, sending painful shivers through Julian’s being, the statement bringing a sense of confusion, but never risked voicing his question.

“Don’t touch the brown horse.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read this chapter! By all means, feel free to leave a comment, I adore reading through them. Also, remember to bookmark/subscribe to this story so you don't miss out on the updates of future chapters! Stay healthy and safe, friends. <3


	6. Chapter VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian is ordered to wash the chained-down man but comes to learn Eustace isn't the man he's always looked up to, leading him to make a promise he may just die to keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Detailed vomiting scene (in the first scene) and a brief mention of animal abuse - NOT IN DETAIL. -

The moment Julian stepped outside, bile rising from his dry, pained throat, his body gagged aggressively, trying to throw up the little food contents it held. He winced, wiping the trail of spit hanging from his parted lips, hands on his knees as he straightened his back. His head pounded unbearably like a blood vessel in his forehead would suddenly pop from the strain, thoughts swirling harshly with vivid images of screaming hot skin and the smell of burning flesh too recently forged within his mind intoxicated all of his senses. 

The taste of bile and blood lingered on his bitten tongue. He didn’t realize when he had cut his own tongue open with the pressure of his clamped teeth and tensed jaw. Julian’s face felt hot and swollen from dried boiled tears, causing him to groan and wipe at his mouth with the back of his trembling hand before lifting his face to start heading towards the horse stables in search of the bucket.

Unconsciously, his movements were languid, all of his attention put towards tearing at the skin around his chewed nails, the taste of dirt making its way into his mouth, though anything would be better than the bile left in his mouth. Pushing open the stables door, his gaze immediately was drawn to a chestnut horse whose head snapped up at the sound of him coming in, ears flickered back threateningly. Julian’s eyes stuttered over the body of the mare, a tight rope caught around her neck tied against a sturdy pole, keeping her front in place. She stomped, setting loose dirt into the air as she let out an angry, low whiny. 

Julian kept his distance, the horse’s eyes never daring to leave the boy’s figure, watching intently at every movement, every slight twitch under his body. Slowly raising his hands in an attempt of showing submission, trying to get across that he’s not a threat. “Whoa, girl,” he gushed out softly, stilling not stepping closer to the wary horse, still stomping her powerful hind legs. Squinting his intent eyes, tilting his head ever so slightly in thought as his eyes found the ruthless whip marks masking the horse’s back and sides. “Who...” Julian’s words died off as he remembered the copy of whip marks on his own thin back.

_ Don’t touch the brown horse. _

Eustace’s words impaled his memory causing Julian’s voice to die in the tense air around him. The horse noticed the tension rushing through the boy’s body, making her kick up again, whining loudly, thrashing her head, fighting to get loose of the rope. “Hey, hey, hey,” he spoke quickly, words slurring together, “It’s alright, I-I won’t hurt you. I’m sorry he-” tears swelled up in his eyes, bringing a strong stinging sensation. Swallowing, shaking his head, fighting the urge to think of excuses for Eustace’s actions. “-you don’t deserve this...your person doesn’t either.”

At the mention of ‘her person’, the horse seemed to understand Julian’s words, freezing for a moment, large brown eyes staring into him as if she were asking where he was. 

“ _ Fuck, _ ” Julian cussed harshly, suddenly remembering what he had been asked to do. “Look, I’m sorry, I have to go. I-I’ll try to help you and your owner, alright?” He threw her a weak smile before stumbling a little towards the corner of the stable, his eyes catching onto the glimmer of a metal bucket, a rough piece of cloth thrown over its lip.

The bucket hung from two fingers by his side while he made his way to the door before glancing back at the beautiful horse, forced to stand in one spot, barely able to adjust her position, and finally decided to leave, a deep sorrow engraved into his bones. 

_ Eustace did this. He abused a horse for no reason. He took its owner and tortured them, justifying it all because The Butcher of Blaviken killed people once. Why? Surely it wouldn’t have been just “because”, right? Even if it had been, just kill him, why would Eustace enjoy torturing him? _

He sighed heavily, groaning mentally at all the unanswerable questions flooding his thoughts, and stepped back into the house after filling the bucket with well water. Forcing a neutral look on his face, he walked to the dungeon’s door, knocking in question. Muttering was heard a second before the door swung open with a metal groan, Eustace nodded approvingly and Julian fought the sense of pride spread through his body from the acceptance of the man in front of him. 

“The Mutant will stay chained. Don’t bother talking to it, doesn’t fuckin’ talk anyway. Not yet anyway.” 

Julian was certain an excited smirk crept across Eustace’s lips at his last words, but the man left him before he could analyze the change in features, shutting the door behind him. Julian stood shamingly, looking down at the bucket in his hands instead of the body stretched out in front of him, chained down against a table like hours before. The sound of the door locking sent a flare of nerves through his spine. He was locked inside.

The scent hung heavily in the air, remaining stuck within the damp walls like slime. Julian shivered, forcing himself to breathe through his mouth, desperately trying to ignore the lingering smells of the acts that had occurred. With an unsure step, he stood aside from the table, setting down the water bucket at his feet, his gaze locked on the scarring skin, blazing red from irritation.

_ I did this. I was a part of this. Me.  _

The thought made him painfully dizzy. He violently shook his head in hopes of clearing out his mind. Looking up, he realized the man’s golden gaze was stuck on the ceiling, unblinking, his face not moving in the slightest. Julian noticed the man’s breathing was slow and held long pauses between each one, surely not enough air reaching his lungs for a human.

_ He isn’t human. _

Before he could stop himself, he spoke his mind, like a dumbass, “What are you?”

He noticed the golden eyes blinked once, but no other responses were given. Letting only a moment pass, Julian raised the wetted cloth to start wiping gently at the man’s bare chest, barely touching the recent burn in hesitance. “This is going to hurt,” he breathed out, not knowing if the statement was for preparing the mutant or himself. 

Carefully dragging the wet cloth along the marred skin coated with dried, flaky blood, the only indication that the man felt the pain was his jaw clenching, the muscles jumping from the tight tension. Julian winced at the sight, unconsciously holding his breath as if he felt the pain in return for being the one causing it. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered out, closely hovering over the body to inspect the scabbing edges of the burnt skin, gently cleaning it. He cursed under his breath each time his hand shook, causing the scab to tear off, leaving fresh blood to ooze out over the pale skin. That crimson gaze never minding to look down at him, only closing when Julian’s uneasy hands scrubbed too harshly. 

As Julian cleaned, his breathing becoming a conscious effort to keep at a calming pace, he couldn’t help but admire the body in front of him. It pained him seeing large scars crisscrossing one another, some paper-white, a smooth heal, while others an angry purple that remained wrinkled and held harsher edges. He wondered about all the stories behind them, but knowing all-too-well that the answers weren’t happy tales. Julian hated when others at the marketplace inquired about his scars, speaking as if they had the right to know. That is until Eustace decided it would be safer for him to stay on the property and not to go into town. 

The bucket was filled with flakes of dead skin and looked like a dark wine thirty minutes into washing. Julian hopes to gods he wouldn’t have to get used to this: the smell, the blood stuck under his short nail beds, the pool of blood mixing with water in the bucket he was sure to have to dump out later. 

Throughout the entire time, the body laid out in front of him was motionless - freakishly motionless, he might add - only ever showing any sign of still being  _ alive _ were the slow planned out breaths. But then, Julian spoke, “I’m sorry about your horse-” 

The burning eyes snapped in his direction, jaw growing tense as he thrashed his arms and legs helplessly, fighting desperately against the chains, the deafening sound reverberated against the old brick walls. “The  _ fuck _ did you do to my horse.” 

The demand stormed out in a low, throaty growl, teeth bared like a wolf, causing Julian to stumble backward, the wet cloth dropping to the dungeon’s floor with a plop. “Nothing, nothing, I-I didn’t touch her,” He struggled to form words with those murderous golden eyes on him, almost as if gears were working behind them, strategically planning how to get out and painfully kill him. 

Closing his shaking hands into fists by his side, he inhaled deeply, forcing his eyes to meet the others. “She’s physically fine-” Julian decided against telling the mutant about the whipping. “-she’s being held in the horse stables. I-I tried to calm her down but she was trying to buck me.” His heart hammered within his chest but he swore he saw the smallest hint of a smirk on the man’s lips.

“Sounds like Roach,”

Julian gaped at the man for a moment but quickly regained his composure. “Roach?” He questioned, eyebrows furrowed together, his head tilted ever so slightly. The man set his head down roughly, the metal clanging in the air causing Julian to flinch from the thought that would hurt if he were human. 

“My horse.” The answer was blunt and monotone, which I guess hadn’t really surprised Julian. 

“You-you named your horse Roach?” Julian squinted his eyes in thought while leaning down to pick up the cloth, now blood-soaked and covered in gravel. 

“Mm,” was the only answer he received. Eyes closed, chin pointing towards the ceiling turned away from Julian, clearly ending the conversation.

_ What type of monster would name their horse? _

“Do you have a name?” He dropped the cloth into the disgusting water, trying not to gag, forcing his eyes anywhere else. Julian got no response, unsure if that should be taken as a ‘no’ or a hint to tell him to shut up. Maybe both. Probably both.

Holding the bucket from his fingers, he turned to leave but stopped, hesitating. Letting his eyes wander over the body in front of him, taking in the sight, his chest felt heavy. 

Body glistened from the wash down, the small clothes stained crimson, echoing the color of the scabbed skin. The burn mark was unbelievably healed over, a thin first layer of skin stitching itself together, screaming wine red. His chest rose in rhythmic movements, almost like in a meditative state, chasing a calmness in the body. Aureate eyes were hidden behind pale skin, allowing Julian’s gaze to wander, his mind chasing for understanding, questions flooding all his senses. 

Making up his mind, he rose his eyes to meet the man’s face, forcing his words to hold a promise, one Julian didn’t know if he could keep.

“I’m going to help you and Roach get out,” he cringed mentally at how soft his voice came out, but forgot swiftly about it as golden rays stared him down analytically. Moments passed in utter silence. A shiver ran down Julian’s spine from the intense eye contact. He let out a soft breath before turning towards the door, knocking on it, waiting for Eustace with the keys.

Not a minute later, the sound of a key sliding through a metal lock was heard, but before Julian went to open the door, a rough voice spoke behind him. An act of trust.

“Geralt,” 

A small smile tugged at Julian’s lips, his back facing the man -  _ Geralt _ \- feeling a sense of something new beginning rush through his body like electricity. He nodded once before finally opening the door and walking out, forcing away any trace of emotion from his features.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember to leave feedback and Kudos! Take care of yourself, loves.


	7. Chapter VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for so much for all your kind-hearted words you've commented on this fic so far, I appreciate them greatly. I just wanted to write out this note as an apology for not updating this fic in an entire month and coming back with this short filler chapter. I promise ya'll the next one (and the ones after that) will focus strongly on the building of Geralt and Julian's relationship (and Julian and Roach's). Thank you for sitting by me throughout all this! I'll try to get back into writing and updating regularly.

Julian sat in the lukewarm water viciously scrubbing his reddened skin, desperately trying to get off the smell of burnt flesh lingering there suffocatingly. He couldn’t get the taste of disgust out of his mouth while thinking about Eustace, his stomach in a tight knot picturing the scars on Roach’s back and the blood covering Geralt, all because of Eustace - his friend.

_ No - not friend, that absolute...fuckdump.  _

Groaning, Julian let his head rest against the rim of the wooden tub, getting rid of his thoughts and focusing on the rarity of getting an actual bath. Shoving the feeling of pride bubbling to the surface from being praised for listening to doing the task Eustace wanted him to do, by being gifted the opportunity of a bath as reward, he gritted his teeth painfully, unable to process the abuse he witnessed - the abuse he was a part of. 

Cleaning himself thoroughly, Julian narrowed his focus on the feeling of the rough cloth dragging across his paper-white skin flecked with red from irritation of rubbing too harshly. 

Later into the night, he found himself on his back, staring into the void of darkness that was his closet’s ceiling, his thoughts scraping within his head. 

_ Fuck, how the hell am I suppose to help them? Why-why did I even promise that? What if I can't? What if I fail and Eustace only tortures them both more? What if- _

Julian groaned, jabbing the palms of his hands into his eye sockets as if to erase the useless thought process of the words he spoke to the man. The least thing he could do was try to help Geralt and Roach, even if the thought terrified him of the consequences he surely would endure once Eustace figured he was the one who helped Geralt -  _ mutant,  _ the  _ Butcher _ . A flare of irritation lit within his chest at the thought of Eustace - or anybody - calling Geralt that-that word. 

No “butcher” would show clear distress at the thought of their horse being hurt such as the man had. Closing his eyes, the image of raging eyes filled with fire came into view, picturing the exact moment Julian had mentioned the horse. Remembering the soft sigh, barely noticeable, Geralt had let out after hearing Roach was alright; the view of his eyes softening. The thought brought a small smile to Julian’s lips as he finally drifted to sleep, feeling determination. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Make sure to leave any comments if you want to give feedback, I love reading them all and try to reply to most of them if I can. Happy Pride, too, by the way! <3


	8. Chapter VIII

The sound of a low, threatening growl seeping its way through the walls like water woke Julian up with a startle. Breathing heavily, he scrambled up, careful not to hit his head on the low hanging door frame and made his way to where the sound was coming from. Stopping with a strong halt right in front of the dungeon door. He stood helplessly. 

“Shit,” Julian ran his hand anxiously through his hair, forcibly calming his heavy breathes, masking his facial expressions while knocking softly before opening the door himself. 

_ Don’t expect shit. He’s going to be hurt. It’s going to be bad. Don’t react. Don’t expect shit. Don’t- _

“Julian!” Eustace spoke with a proud smile, gesturing the man in quickly with his hands, welcoming him in eagerly; nearly excited, if Julian knew any better. “Ah, I hope you slept well. I started without you, but to only let you rest in--”

_ Started? _ Julian stopped listening, anxiety bubbling up quickly as he peeked around the tall man’s figure, he nearly let shock spread over his features at the sight he was met with. Unconsciously, he stepped forward, past Eustace, his jaw clenched tightly, desperately forcing the tears out of his eyes. 

Geralt lied unmoving, limbs chained down like an animal; a murderous monster everybody considered him to be. His arm was strapped down twice, forcibly left with his wrist up, a thin clear tube wired its way to a needle that was tied down on Geralt’s pale forearm, inserted into his Cephalic vein. The liquid ran sluggishly through the transparent tube, dark disgusting color of pure black moved thickly into Geralt’s body; directly into his bloodstream. 

“--found within his saddlebag that was attached to his horse,” Julian’s gaze snapped up to meet Eustace’s, who had made his way across the table, eyeing the unconscious Geralt with fascination. “The mutant went mad when we showed him the glass jars; growling like the beast he is.” 

Geralt’s body was pale and slick with sweat.  _ He looks like he’s dying, _ Julian thought to himself, his hands visibly shaking from the thought.  _ I promised him… _

Clearing his voice of any emotion, Julian spoke monotonously, “What is the stuff doing to him?” 

“We haven’t tested the infected blood yet, nor as he woke up. I knew you would come around. It’s fascinating, ain’t it? Seeing this mutant’s abilities of self-healing,” Eustace walked over, eyes never leaving Geralt’s body, a spark of - something - in them as he rested a hand on Julian’s shoulder. The boy jumped, bringing a scold on Eustace’s facial features, his gaze hardening. 

Mentally shaking his head, he spoke finally, playing his narrative of being interested. “What if he dies in the process?”

“Mm, we’re hoping that doesn’t happen. It’s a rarity we ran into him after a tiresome fight with the town’s Vampire - or whatever they’re actually called - problem. It would be a shame for us to lose such a prize. Witchers are nearly impossible to track down, nevermind Wolf Witchers,” 

_ Witchers?  _ Julian took a step forward, head tilted ever so slightly in thought. The race sounded familiar, bringing a hazy memory fizzling right at the surface of his mind, unable to process it. Unable to grasp it in his trembling hands. The second he thought the memory was resurfacing to his conscious, Geralt struggled, trying to throw his body into an upward position, a wheezing, pained gasp following, his limbs shaking, trying to rip free from the chains.

His mouth agape panting heavily in strangled breathes, his body glistening with sweat as if he had the plague. His face moved swiftly, minutely in a complicated way Julian couldn’t grasp. Geralt’s eyes were still shut as if cursed to never open again.

Snarling, his sharp canines showed aggressively before he snapped his eyes open. Eustace paused his trek, nearly tripping over his feet at the sight in front of him, his face transforming to disgust. Julian watched in bewilderment, a gasp escaping his throat as he saw the black toxicity in the Witcher’s eyes, making them as black as a stormy night. He watched the two of them. It was like watching two alpha wolves fighting for dominance.

“If you’re trying to kill me, there are easier ways, you know.” Eustace’s eyes widened at the deep gravelly voice. Geralt’s jaw clenched tightly in agony, the black mud-like liquid slowly pumping into his burning arm, his pitch-black veins showing evidently through paper-white skin, his blown-out eyes matching. 

Silence followed for a moment, Eustace clearly fumbling to find his composure. The look of disgust and fear still licking at his features, eyes never leaving the Witcher’s, as if he were to blink or look away, Geralt would be at his throat tearing it open with his bare teeth. Julian shivered at the thought, unconsciously stepping back, regretting it instantly as Geralt’s attention was drawn to him. The void within his eyes stared intensely, emotionlessly.

_ He’s not a monster. He-he wouldn’t have cared that much about his horse. Wouldn’t have given you his name.  _

Julian stepped forward with a shaky breath, his worried gaze tracing the black toxins flooding the man’s veins. Reaching out slowly, his hand sturdy regardless of his thoughtless act. He didn’t consider the consequences, not caring about what would happen to him. 

_ He’s dying. _

Julian pulled out the needle, immediately stopping the flow of whatever was intoxicating Geralt’s body before a rough hand was placed on his shoulder, tearing him back carelessly. “What the  _ fuck _ ,” Eustace yelled, his grip nailing firmly into the just-healed-flesh, the scowl evident as he shoved the younger man into the dungeon's wall. “Did I  _ fucking _ tell you to do that?  _ No _ . You little disobedient, motherfucking brat, you never bloody listen!” 

His breath was running short, boiling tears falling down, his body reacting instinctively, hands covering his face as he shrunk into himself, letting his frame drop to the floor helplessly.

_ Gods, fuck. Fuck. Shit. What did I-fuck I’m an idiot. I’m fucking dumb. Fuck me. I don’t even know Gera - the mutant. I-what was I thinking? I don’t listen, I don’t-I don’t-fuck. _

Julian sobbed, choking on his desperate gasps for air. His knees tucked to his chest protectively, hands covering his eyes painfully, letting his hair fall over his face. 

“Fuckin’ pathetic,” He heard above him before a sharp pain spread through his ribs like lightning, the strong kick from Eustace knocked Julian over, his head hitting the dungeon’s flooring with a deafening thud. 

Eustace scoffed, opening the door, locking it behind him, leaving Julian on the floor, blood dragging over his closed eyelids. Shaking, he clenched his side, sobbing painfully loud, gasping for air. His body screamed at him, threatening to stop breathing. Anxious, thundering thoughts rushed through his pounding head. 

“Please-” Julian cried out, whimpering against the cold floor, the rocks stabbing his face, but he couldn’t care. He begged aloud, curling into himself. Alone. “Pleas-” He choked on a sob, he didn’t know what he was pleading for.


	9. Chapter IX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt briefly explains what a Witcher is to Julian as they're both locked within the dungeon in excruciating pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our boys are finally getting to know each other better! Of course, as always, it can't be without consequences...Though I do promise they BOTH get a happy ending (Roach, too, of course).
> 
> TW // Julian as a panic attack at the end of this chapter.

When Julian came to, he didn’t know where he was, sending him into a panic; eyes snapping open, scanning the pitch-dark room, squinting into the darkness. The smell of mold and moss lingered in the humid air, sticking to the walls of his lungs as he struggled to breathe. Grunting out painfully, hand clutching at the bruised ribs, a whimper echoing back to him.

_ Fuckin’ pathetic _

The words came back like the boot to his screaming ribs, his lungs pushing against them with every breath, an aching reminder of the previous—

_ Day? Night? How long had I’ve been out? Fu-Geralt. _

“Geralt?” Julian’s voice was rough, dry as the Kalahari Desert. The damp rocks and dirt stuck sharply against his cheek and hands. Scraping off the rocks practically embedded within the flesh, he slowly pushed himself up, heavily relying on the cold wall behind him. “Fuck,” he muttered harshly, wrapping his arms around himself, every shiver felt like glass to his purple and black side.

The gravelly voice jumped out from the dark, startling Julian, “You alright?” 

“ _ Me?— _ pfft, Gera-seriously—I’m not the one who had toxins poured directly into my bloodstream.” He scoffed, instantly regretting it, barking out coughs uncontrollably, his head pounding agonizingly. The other man waited until he heard him spit onto the cold floor before doing a breathing exercise. 

“You’re human,” was all the other thought was a reasonable reason to ignore his own pain. 

Leaning his head against the wall, feeling the wetness soak the back of his hair. He closed his eyes— _ can’t see shit anyway— _ and groaned out, “And you’re not, I know. You’re a-a Witcher, whatever  _ that  _ is,”

Julian thought he heard a soft considering-hum, but wasn’t certain with the pounding in his pain-ridden head like his very heartbeat was in his skull. 

“You never were told stories of the terror that is Witchers?” He sounded genuinely confused.

“Family didn’t want me. Left me on the side of the road when I was young—was alone for quite some time after that, until…” Julian’s voice cracked, his dry throat tasting of blood. Sighing, he inhaled deeply, struggling to ignore the pain that flared up his spine. “Until Eustace took me in,” he whispered into the open room. 

Julian shook his head, leaning up, opening his eyes-though useless to the night’s room. “So,” his voice laid flat, but couldn’t hide the genuine interest. “What’s a Witcher?” 

Silence lapped over them, making Julian consider the very high possibility that that was the end of the conversation and he had pushed too far. As he was about to apologize a tingling sensation rushed through his cold body before suddenly the torch on the wall lit aflame.

“What the-” Julian jumped, scrambling further into the corner, wincing from the pain flooding in with the sudden movements. Eyes wide, he looked over to Geralt--now visible from the soft glow--breathing heavily as if he had run a marathon. The worry snapped through his voice when he spoke out, “Geralt?”

The Witcher grumbled, spiking Julians worry. Groaning, the boy pushed himself out of the corner he crumbled into, forcing his body towards the table, his weight threatening to give out beneath him. The glow of the fire hit Geralt’s body like liquid, shadows morphing with the smooth elegant dances of the flame. Julian scanned over the body lied out in front of him; arms still chained by their sides, though the hands free to make--limited--movements. Chest bare, the angry burn mark engraved the entire right side, though remarkably healed over;  _ needs new bandaging after a cleaning--doubt Eustace will allow that now,  _ Julian thought to himself, eyes raking back up to the man’s face.

His eyelids were tightly shut, leaving his forehead to crinkle, giving off a ‘fuck off’ vibe; Julian decided to ignore it. The pale skin shown black veins pumping under the lower lashes. The man seemed hesitant to open their eyes, but once he finally did, Julian let out a small gasp unintentionally at the sight of two blown out pupils, filling the entirety of the Witcher’s eyes.

Geralt’s jaw was clenched, the gaze of the voids analyzing the young man standing in front of him. 

Julian stepped closer, lifting his hands slowly as if calming a wild animal, making his movement’s intentions clear. “Does it hurt?” He whispered out, the ice skin of their cheek seeping into the warmth of Julian’s hand. 

Geralt let out a soft breath through his nose as if it were being held moments before. Julian retracted his hand, chuckling awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. 

“More overwhelming than hurting,” the man spoke plainly, closing his eyes again. Julian gaped at him before shuffling an old wooden chair near the table, resting his aching, tired body over the chair’s backrest, legs hung around it. He felt the intensity of the blackout eyes watching his every movement. A shiver ran through his body at the thought of him being prey. 

“Witchers are...created by training and mutagens. The sole purpose of our being is killing monsters harming you humans.” Julian’s eyes scanned the man’s face, though didn’t make eye contact as the other glared at the ceiling. 

Julian stayed quiet, twisting his thoughts around, considering the words given to him. His body felt weak, heartbeat throbbing within his ribs and head. Sighing audibly, wincing at the touch of his shaking hand to his temple. “So--the white hair--is that a-a...a Witcher thing?” Julian rested his chin on his forearms thrown over the back of the chair, eyes locked on the side profile of Geralt.

The man didn’t show any sign of hearing the question, starless gaze lost in the ceiling, body tightly still chained down, dry blood littering across his skin. After a moment, one Julian was about to fill with some comment or another, Geralt replied hoarsely, abruptly, “No,”

Reading between the lines--something Julian was quite good at doing nowadays--he let the topic drop, groaning out in a harsh exhale through his nose, he painfully rose from the chair, weakly pulling it to where it was, before struggling to lower himself to the floor against the wall. Tipping his head back, tired eyes closed, he fought the migraine threatening to split open his skull. “It’s a lock and key, right?”

“Mm?” Geralt hummed questioningly. Julian felt the stare on him, but didn’t care to return it, not moving while clarifying his muddied thoughts.

“The chains--I need to search for the keys--you and uh,-” he scrunched up his face, rubbing the palms of his hands into his eye sockets, thinking. “-Roach, to get out of here. You don’t-” his voice cracked, though he didn’t mind clearing it before continuing, “-either of you, don’t deserve this.”

The silence felt echoing,  _ or maybe it was the migraine,  _ letting Julian start to drift off into a dreadful sleep, arms wrapped around himself protectively. Before completely falling, the Witcher spoke out again, bringing him to awareness yet again.

“You do?”

He grumbled in confusion, his pained and exhausted mind not following the line of conversation. His head dipping down harshly every once in a while as he fought off sleep, feeling a slight comfort in the man’s voice. “Roach and I, we don’t deserve it--you do?” 

The intense feeling of eyes watching him made him shuffle on the ground. Julian didn’t answer, his throat closing at the thought;  _ I can’t survive this. _

“Why stay?” Geralt’s voice was level, calm. 

It enraged Julian, the question causing a muffled cry forced from his tongue.  _ I can’t-I can’t-don’t cry, please, don’t fucking-I can’t do this.  _ He bit unbearably hard on his hand, strangling the bubbling cries, snot covering his cracked lips, the sting piling on the excruciating pain. All he felt was pain. Julian didn’t answer the question, just focused his entire being on trying to  _ calm the fuck down.  _ His skin was suddenly too tight, trembling too much, and prickling in the sensation he despises.  _ Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuc- _

“Yes, the chains need a key,” Geralt whispered out, after a time Julian didn’t know. The softness of the voice helped ground him ever-so-slightly. The fire on the wall following suit with the man’s voice. 

The Witcher didn’t ask any other questions that night.


End file.
